


Brand New Me

by kiasohma



Category: Being Human (North America)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiasohma/pseuds/kiasohma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it is when he is on his fourth glass of scotch that he always remembers Bishop, realizes that life without Bishop is a life without the sun. Life without Bishop is a life without guidance, without hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brand New Me

_Just give me wind upon my back_

 _Let me say that I won't come back…_

 _…Let me rise up from the old_

 _And become someone you don't know_

 _\- Nine Days_

Hopefully, he can understand. Hopefully, the guilt will pass with time. Hopefully, the damage isn’t something permanent.

Hopefully, Bishop can understand.

Aidan keeps his eyes on the swirling ices, head cocked to the side with a solemnness he cannot place the cause, _refuses_ to place the cause. He thumbs the rim of the glass in contemplation.

It has been 6 months since he’s last seen Bishop, and while he should already be used to the absence of the older man, this feeling of loneliness is struck deep in his chest whenever he heaves in the city air during his walk home.

He hears the pattering of rain in the footsteps of Boston on some nights, smells a faint trace of smoke and cinnamon when the bakery comes into view, and it reminds him of Bishop.

A hint of gold from the pancakes Josh cooks for them, the remnants of broken glasses that shine blue across his bedroom floor, everything reminds him of Bishop.

His hair, his eyes, his smell, his _presence_.

Aidan won’t admit it to anyone—not even to himself, really—but he misses him. They have been together for too long that being separated is akin to a perfect jigsaw puzzle losing one very important piece, a yin without a yang. And nothing is perfect anymore. Nothing is the same.

Aidan questions his rebellious actions more often than he likes, and occasionally he doubts them, wonders if they are appropriate or not. Then guilt kicks in and the drinking problem begins.

Josh doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that Aidan sits in the bar alone most of the time drinking his soul raw, that flirting is the farthest Aidan has allowed and _will_ ever allow himself to get nowadays. Days gone by in his human lifestyle, and he sticks to blood bags ever since he secured a job at the hospital. So, going off the diet of animal blood is the one good thing Aidan can outwardly acknowledge.

“Live a normal life,” he said back then. “Adapt, socialize, you know. _Be human_. We’ll be fine.”

“Well, when in Rome, try not to kill the Romans, agreed?” Josh added jokingly, though it is laced with his normal cynicism, as if the emphasis is on “try” and he doesn’t believe that this thing they’re trying to pull off is going to work. But Aidan can see there is still a rare optimism in Josh that truly wants this to happen.  And the hopeful puppy eyes alone are enough to make him commit to the plan because Josh has the innocence Aidan does not but yearns for. He wants Josh to continue having that pure naivety that the werewolf himself does not recognize just because he cannot see past his own daily dose of pessimism.

For a while, everything is good, perfect even. The plan works. They are able to coexist with humans, tame their inner demons, live peacefully. And they have a girl living with them, that’s a plus, never mind she’s a ghost.

But things get sour fast.

After a while, Aidan just sinks into solitude and comes to accept that he is better off alone. He starts to feel guilty, _lonely_ , and he doesn’t quite understand it. Doesn’t he have everything he wants? Doesn’t he have a brother? A sister? A _family_ that isn’t based on violence and bloodshed? A _normal_ life?

 And because he can’t understand this feeling that’s gnawing at him from the inside out, he blames Bishop.

So, now he refuses to “drink” just to prove something, which is reckless and stupid and just _wrong_. He wants to start a new life, to live normally, to _change_ so badly that when he realizes he’s failing he blames Bishop.

He blames Bishop for not changing, for not listening, for not being _here_. Aidan refuses to accept that he is the one that left, that he chooses his own lonely path and keeps walking on it even though he can always turn back. And oh is it so tempting to head back the way he came, straight back to his maker.

But he won’t abandon Josh. He won’t abandon Sally. He has a promise to keep, and he’s going to stay, if only for them.

So, while he continues on living just the way he does with this makeshift job, makeshift neighbors, and makeshift _family_ , Aidan is alone and is better off alone.

Aidan considers Josh and Sally his family, and the two clearly returns that sentiment even though he doesn’t _want_ them to consider him their family.

People get hurt, people die, whenever they get close. He is afraid. He is not willing to lose something so important a second time, especially not to his own blood-soaked hands. You would think that with Josh, Aidan finally has someone who understands him, but Aidan is stubborn like that and wishes for the happiness of only one of them because one more will be asking too much. Wishing for his own happiness apparently is too much. Josh laughed at this and told him to shut up.  

Aidan chuckles at the memory and downs another glass. The taste is bitter on his tongue and it does not quench his thirst, but he appreciates it. He hasn’t been _“drinking”_ for close to a month because blood will remind him too much of…And it is when he is on his fourth glass of scotch that he always remembers Bishop, realizes that life without Bishop is a life without the sun (though the analogy is not quite proper considering…things).

Life without Bishop is a life without guidance, without hope.

The world without Bishop is a world that is safe, a haven that is devoid of danger—the supernatural kind at the very least. Aidan’s world without Bishop is a world without light, a dark and formidable blackness that engulfs him whole whenever he thinks beyond Bishop’s time.

Contemplating Bishop’s end makes him feel sick.

“Sulking does not suit you.”

And Aidan wants to see him so much the damned, nerve-grating voice is haunting his mind now.

“Are you going to sit there and ignore me like a child, Aidan? I thought you are above that,” Bishop says, and the seat next to Aidan is filled with a familiar presence that a mere hallucination can never imitate. Aidan turns to face the smiling blond warily.

“You’re here,” Aidan threads cautiously. Relief floods him because Bishop is here, finally here, but Aidan can still feel the narrowing of his eyes, the rebellious set of his brows that opposes the happiness he feels inside. The corners of his lips pull down and his mouth opens to say, “I didn’t call you.”

“Not physically, no.” Bishop reacts with his own pursed lips and blank stare. “But I can feel it. You have been _whining_.”

Aidan laughs to cover up something he doesn’t want to show because Bishop can read him like an open book, and that thought isn’t necessarily a comfort when he’s trying so hard to declare his independence, when he’s fighting so stupidly to bite the hand that fed him while ignoring the pain it brings him. “That’s stupid.” He scoffs. “You’re telling me you have telepathic powers now? That’s a scary thought.”

A smile. “Perhaps. I think of it more of a…”speed dial,” though, sort of like a direct connection from me to you?” It isn’t a question even if Bishop makes it sound like one.

“That’s gross,” comments Aidan, turning back towards the bar to drink his new glass of scotch without Bishop’s face in the way. He can feel the calculating blue eyes on him regardless, and steadying his hand becomes a whole new endeavor Aidan never figures he ever has to face.

“Have you been keeping yourself well?”

Aidan doesn’t answer, and the question lingers too long. It layers itself on top of the rest of the tension in the room, spreading carefully around them. It makes a one word reply into such a difficult thing.

Besides him, Aidan feels Bishop moves to raise a finger at the bartender. Same order: double scotch. Aidan has to hold back a smile at the action. It is one of the many small things they have in common, Aidan remembers.

A stroll at night because it’s hard to sleep around the gun shots and bombs; brunch at a bistro near the New York metro back when good old Starbucks served only freshly brewed coffee.

 _Weddings_.

The summer breeze of India on the fifth year of Aidan’s turning. The shock of ice cold water after pushing Bishop down Niagara Falls—okay, no, that didn’t happen, but it was discussed when Bishop dragged him all the way to Canada to spend a week in what probably was the most peaceful place on the planet, peaceful when that is the last thing Aidan wanted as a newly born, violent, young _thing_ that did not understand the concept of “enough is enough.”

Aidan now looks back on that certain memory with a shame that burns his insides like a freshly heated fire iron. His grip on the glass tightens naturally.

“What are you thinking about, Aidan?”

 He lets out a sigh because he doesn’t want to answer, doesn’t want to think about the feeling that comes with the memory. Aidan downs whatever’s left of the drink, scrunches up his face at the taste once more, and raises his hand for another.

“That’s enough. Thank you.” He hears Bishop intercepts.

Aidan glares at the interference. “What are you, my parents? A _cop_?” Then he laughs. “I’m more than old enough. You should know, _Captain_ James Bishop.”

When silence drags on, Aidan turns to face Bishop and sees the same smile, the same face, but lacking the cool collection Bishop always bears. A faint crease forms around the older man’s brow with every change of expression, and lines of aging are more apparent. Aidan frowns at them.

“You look old.”

Bishop chuckles. A hand waves the comment off and shoulders shrug. “I am.”

“You know what I mean.” Aidan rolls his eyes, exasperated but deep down concerned. “What happened?”

Another shrug, and instead of answering, Bishop leans on his hand and drags his lips up further to create more lines on his cheeks. He looks at Aidan for a moment, decides to completely ignore the question, and repeats one of his own. “Have you been keeping yourself well?”

So, Aidan gives up and replies this time, just because Bishop looks too damn worn out, too damn _human_ , and that’s a word Aidan has never thought to associate with Bishop before, not ever since the incident with  Jane which he swore never to bring up in front of the man again.

“Yes,” Aidan says.

A pause and Bishop lifts an eyebrow to criticize his lie. Aidan corrects himself with a sigh. “No.”

“Contrary to…whatever belief you adopted,” Bishop comments while drumming against his glass, “Scotch does not act as replacement to, well anything really, much less _blood_.”

Aidan frowns at the condescending tone. “It does whatever anything else can’t. And that’s good enough for me.”

“And pray tell, what is that?”

Bishop knows. Aidan knows Bishop knows, but not the whole truth, perhaps. And Aidan doesn’t want to explain. His mouth has other ideas, though.

“Honestly?” Aidan begins with a single mirthless laugh. “It makes me forget—.”

“I thought you’re smarter than that,” Bishop cuts in and lifts the glass to drink, as if to make a point.

“It works! That’s all that matters. Because I can’t deal,” Aidan scowls at the older man, his judging eyes, his sympathetic expression, everything that makes Bishop the way he is. “I can’t deal. And it’s hard without the blood.”

Almost immediately Bishop’s eyes narrow, and he grimaces as the true meaning of the words unravels in his mind. “You haven’t been _drinking_ ,” he states, one fist clenches tightly in a pocket. “At all.”

Aidan feels the need to apologize then. The anger radiating off of Bishop isn’t something he is used to, isn’t something he _wants_ to get used to. It’s not like the older man to act in such a way and Aidan doesn’t want it to be his fault, which is ridiculous because this isn’t any of Bishop’s business.

“I don’t need it anymore,” Aidan says.

At this, Bishop scoffs loudly and turns away, disgusted. “Right.”

“I mean it.”

“No, you are _meaning_ to kill yourself, that’s what you mean.”

Aidan’s brows furrow. “I’m not. I just think it’s something that can be mediated, if not abstained from completely…with time.”

Bishop brings both hands up to place them on the counter, tensed, and Aidan understands the fury and pain and _patience_ so much it hurts. It takes Bishop’s whole strength not to slam his fists onto that wooden plank of a table and splinters it to bits at Aidan’s words alone.

“You are _insane_ ,” Bishop grinds out, and it is desperate. It is desperate and so very difficult for him to put things into words after Aidan’s stupid declaration that it brings the feeling of being “worked to the bones” to a whole new level.

He wants to wring the little _shit’s_ neck until it turns to dust by this point. “I left you alone for, what, half a year and you somehow got this idea to—.” Bishop cuts himself off and looks away to regain his bearings before he really ends up wringing the man’s neck because he will if he finishes that thought. He breathes. Slowly. “It is in your _nature_ , Aidan. And I’m not saying it in the sense of a drug addict or an alcoholic because that’s what you’re trying to tell me you believe yourself to be, an _addict_ , and that’s not what it is!”

“Bishop—.”

“You’re a shark! I keep telling you to own up to it, and you won’t listen,” Bishop hisses because he doesn’t shout.

He doesn’t have to for his authority to be understood. But he is very close, and Aidan can see the way Bishop’s muscles tense up underneath thick layers of his police uniform, fighting hard against the anger that is threatening to pour out for merely _one_ stubborn, idiotic _son_ who rebels again and again and doesn’t deserve the many second chances Bishop has given him.

“You need blood like everybody _fucking_ needs _oxygen_ to survive. It isn’t a matter of willpower, Aidan,” Bishop sighs out painfully, tired out, given up. “ _Be_ a shark _not_ because I’m telling you to. Do it because you _have_ to. For _your_ sake if not for mine, Aidan. _Aidan_.”

And Aidan almost feels bad. _Almost_ because he doesn’t need the guilt to add on to his loneliness and emptiness in him ever since he left Bishop. It’s been collecting. That want to see him, the _need_ to return to Bishop’s side; it’s been accumulating and it is now that he’s just beginning to feel the brunt of it after so long. _Six_ months after the last time Bishop showed up and the emptiness is so big that even Josh and Sally cannot help fill that dark void.

“I know,” Aidan finally acknowledges, and maybe it’s only to ease Bishop’s worries and burdens, but Aidan thinks he’s probably at the end of this little experiment as well, and he should go back to those damn blood bags like a smoker crawling back to his nicotine patches that don’t work two-shits as well as the actual thing, don’t give the same feeling of relief and comfort because hell he needs it now more than ever.

Bishop watches him solemnly, still doesn’t like the answer. “I need something a bit more solid than, “I know,” Aidan,” he says.

“Fine, fine.” Aidan waves away the question like some type of annoying fly that has been bothering him for too long. “I’ll stop “not drinking.” It was getting too dangerous, in any case. I was too far gone, Bishop,” explains Aidan, “This nurse…I almost slipped. It was terrifying. Hell, even Josh, for a moment I couldn’t give a damn about the fact that he’s my friend or that he _smells_ like a dog enough to _not_ want to attack him. Those signs should’ve been enough for me to stop, Bishop, but…”

Aidan snaps his teeth together and grinds, frustrated, and Bishop lets the bartender pour the scotch into Aidan’s glass this time when he signals for a refill. He must have looked like such a child after a tantrum that Bishop just doesn’t care enough to fight against anymore, but Aidan can’t give a rat’s ass about his appearance right now when he’s feeling like shit. In fact, let his appearance mirrors whatever he’s feeling. It feels right that way.

“Do you want to continue?” Bishop asks after Aidan finishes half the sixth glass, his own remaining empty.

Aidan refuses to let go of the glass or look in Bishop’s general direction. “Not really.”

“…Okay.”

And they sit in silence for a while, each contemplating their next move or reminiscing good memories because they can’t deal with anything else that will widen the chasm between them even more right now.

Aidan doesn’t know what will happen if Bishop is completely out of his life for good. But he can’t go back to the way things were.

“I’m not going back,” says Aidan, pained, but resolute.

Bishop blinks and his lips thin out, not pleased but already expectant of that answer. “Okay.”

And Bishop moves to stand, to leave, to walk out the door and _still_ wait for Aidan to return like he always have been at the same place with the same smile, the same teasing and the same open arms even though Bishop knows he’s selfishly doing everything wrong to make Aidan come back and that the road to hell is paved with the good intentions Aidan never sees.

And Aidan still thinks Bishop should change, selfishly wishes for this one man to alter his deep-rooted belief just to make things work for him and his own happiness.

But they will never have what they want, not when their wishes require the other’s to sacrifice something so important they will die for.

Yet, it can’t end like this.

“Can I visit, though?”  

He surprises himself as much as Bishop, and the two remain unmoved to watch the other’s reaction, a little more hopeful and a little more positive than they both ever think they can be when it comes to each other.

Bishop’s mouth opens and closes slowly, like he’s wondering what he should say and that’s something new, a change, and while he feels uncomfortable with his lack of words that night, he thinks it’s not entirely a bad thing.

A smile. “Yes,” he murmurs, contentment settling into his tone. “Yes, of course.”

Aidan nods at the reply and lifts just a corner of his lips, but the small action speaks volume.

It’s a good start as any. Close to three hundred years they have been dancing with each other, then dancing around each other, then stopping completely, and it’s ridiculous for this kind of charades to continue when things can be so much easier, so much simpler. Less painful.

 _Happier_. 

And it can all start with a goodbye.

“I’ll see you around, Bishop.”


End file.
